"Don't read much. Too slow at it." Cobb takes a moment to think, debating quietly with himself. He asked for this but it felt like... like he hadn't earned it. Like by stopping sex he didn't deserve to cuddle close and hold Fenris.
That unmoored feeling came back hard but Cobb takes a deep breath and buries it like he buries the anger and pain he carries daily.
"Don't mind. You do what you need. Just gonna try and sleep." Cobb settles more on his back and closes his eyes. He'll drift off eventually just because of alcohol and exhaustion.
In the morning, he'll make breakfast for Fenris to pay him back for this hospitality.
"Same," is all he says in reply, because he too is slow and not very good at it, yet Rue is determined to help him get better at it, so he keeps trying. Not like he has much else to do with his time here. He needed more hobbies really.
But slowly, very slowly, he reads outloud, "There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense," sometimes he stumbles over words, sometimes he doesn't, but he gets through it slowly.
Eventually, he will set aside the book and curl up with Cobb and sleep. He will be grateful for the breakfast in the morning, but the air will be different. How could it not be. But that was a problem for another day.
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That unmoored feeling came back hard but Cobb takes a deep breath and buries it like he buries the anger and pain he carries daily.
"Don't mind. You do what you need. Just gonna try and sleep." Cobb settles more on his back and closes his eyes. He'll drift off eventually just because of alcohol and exhaustion.
In the morning, he'll make breakfast for Fenris to pay him back for this hospitality.
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But slowly, very slowly, he reads outloud, "There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense," sometimes he stumbles over words, sometimes he doesn't, but he gets through it slowly.
Eventually, he will set aside the book and curl up with Cobb and sleep. He will be grateful for the breakfast in the morning, but the air will be different. How could it not be. But that was a problem for another day.